People Ask How It’s Looking

Spooky Tie o’ the Day and I give you an up-close peek at my scar’s current state of being. People who know I had my mid-summer surgery often ask to see my resulting scar– and not just family or super-close friends. I’m fine with showing anybody how it’s doing. But I find it so interesting that they want to see the thing, and that they dare ask to gaze upon it.

And it’s not like folks want to see it just once. They ask to see it all the time, which is exactly why I’ve posted photos of it occasionally. Apparently, people want to inspect it in all of its various stages of healing. They have no hesitation about asking to see a part of my body I would never otherwise show to the masses. I’ve thought about maybe cutting a hole in each of my shirts where the scar would be visible, so people could look at it without having to ask if they can see it. They wouldn’t have to talk to me at all in order to be able to behold it. They might even prefer seeing it without having to converse with me.

Sometimes people ask if they can touch my scar. Go for it, I tell ’em. It all reminds me of how people dare ask to feel the belly of a visibly pregnant woman they know. There are very few situations in our culture in which it is acceptable to ask to see or touch people’s body parts. And, of course, that’s generally a good thing.

As I said, I’m happy to show my scar to those who are curious to see it. And if they want to touch it, more power to ’em. I’d like to say that I won’t pull up my shirt to anyone while I’m in a church, but I did do that a number of times in the Oak City church at my Aunt Arlene’s funeral. I probably wouldn’t do it in Sacrament Meeting though– unless someone incredibly important to me asked to see and/or touch it. What can I say? I aim to please.

BTW   I’m making a list o’ possible names for my scar. Feel free to offer suggestions. TIE O’ THE DAY hasn’t had a contest for months, so if I end up choosing one of the names you suggest, you will be the winner of a Christmas-themed bow tie. (Max J. Tucker, you are disqualified from entering this contest, and you know exactly why.)

Not Just Another Day

Today is THE day in my recovery from surgery that Bow Tie o’ the Day and I have most anticipated. This is the day I will once again lift and carry my ever-present Mini Keg. It can hold 100 ounces of whatever liquid I wish to be guzzling all day long. I’m definitely a Diet Coke gal, so Diet Coke will fill it to the brim. When full, Mini Keg weighs a whopping 5.4 pounds. I consider carrying it around to be my daily exercise. I guess I lift free weights. Okay, I lift one free weight– sloshy rep after rep after rep.

I know I have to be careful. I’m not going to push it. If I have to set down Mini Keg occasionally throughout my waking hours, I will give in and do that. I won’t want to, but I will do it– for the greater good o’ my health and welfare.

When I say Mini Keg is ever-present in my life, I mean it. It is my faithful companion. When I’m in bed, Mini Keg is on my nightstand. It rides with me when I drive. It grocery shops with me, while it sits in the top rack of the shopping cart. We are very close. I can tell Mini Keg anything, and I know my secrets won’t go anywhere else. Mini Keg is my sippy cup.

Why must I have Mini Keg with me at all times? For one thing, it’s a kind of bodyguard. If somebody tried to mug me, I’d simply hurl Mini Keg at them. That’ll knock ’em out! Or I could beat the hell out of the thug with my heavy drinking buddy. Mini Keg is my concealed-in-plain-sight weapon. No carry permit required.

Another reason I insist on carrying my liquids with me 24/7 is that my crazy-head meds make my mouth oh-so dry. I kid you not: If I can’t drink between sentences, I don’t speak in recognizable sounds. I might as well be having a conversation with you with a pint of peanut butter in my mouth. It’s not pretty. And my words are indecipherable, even to me. I must drink to be understood.

I’m sure I have a thousand other reasons, or justifications for carrying my drink baby. But the main reason I feel like a part of me has been amputated when I don’t have Mini Keg is that Diet Coke is my Mistress o’ Caffeine. Plus, it is tasty. I must know I have enough with me at all times, whether I drink the entire 100 ounces per day or not. To feel secure– and that I’ll be able to speak clearly– I must know it’s there.

BTW   Orange and black Bow Tie o’ the Day is here to signal it’s October, and therefore time for Halloween ties and colors. 👻